A Cynic's Quest For Love

The Bourne Confusion

I’m a very private person (says the woman writing the blog for all the Internet to see). I don’t want men to know anything about me. I mean, I’m practically auditioning for the next Bourne movie. There were those movies with Matt Damon, and then the one with that other guy.. they’re going to keep making these movies and — eventually — they’re going to come around to me. I mean, there’s only so many people in the world willing to be in a Bourne movie. I’m liking my odds.

The point of the matter is, I don’t like men to know anything about me, which is great when you’re doing online dating. I can tell them I live somewhere different than I really live. I can tell them a completely fake name (since it’s just a username anyway). I mean, I won’t let just anybody be my Facebook friend and that’s not even people I’m trying to date. When I was an intern on a popular radio morning show in Baltimore, I got tons of Facebook friend requests. While the other interns and DJs would accept anyone who clicked the “Add Friend” button, I accepted none of them. To be my “Friend,” you have to go through a very rigorous two step process.

I have to know you.

I have to like you.

That’s basically it.

So when it comes to phone numbers, you can imagine I’m about as stingy giving it out as Sia is with making public appearances without that weird face wig thing. I mean, really, what’s that all about? Hasn’t she heard of Google image search? Doesn’t she know people already know what she looks like? The horse has left the barn on that one, Sia.

So I don’t give out my phone number anywhere. I don’t give my phone number out to men at bars. I don’t give my phone number out on those forms where you can win a “free trip” to Spain or Costa Rica or whatever. I didn’t give my phone number to that street performer who was playing guitar when I was walking to get my burrito bowl at Chipotle. And I didn’t give my number to Mike, who messaged me on OK Cupid. The wizard of a dating site gave Mike and I a 51% match, but also said we’re 38% enemy. Enemy is a pretty strong word choice there, OK Cupid. Maybe if I’m likely to be any more than 1% enemies with someone, I shouldn’t be dating them. Enemies mean, if this was a movie, I’d have to face off against them in some sort of kung fu fight to the death… and no one wants to see that happen.

So Mike is cute, he seems nice, and he wrote me a message that was clearly carefully crafted. Despite the fact that we’re destined to be mortal enemies.

He thinks I’m cute and he likes board games? I’m even willing to overlook his love of Settlers of Catan, which is (objectively) the worst and most boring board game in the entire world. Seriously, that includes Kerplunk.

Side note: I get a lot of messages from guys who say “I like going to Orioles games too!” I want to make very clear that my profile states “I’m good at: The crab shuffle at Orioles games.” That doesn’t mean I like the Orioles or baseball… that means I like three-card monte.

So I break my “I don’t really feel like dating right now” rule and I write back. I mean, how bad could it be? 38% bad?

Look at me — what a clever and witty response. Great job, Carin.

In this response, I hit on the fact that (a) Settlers of Catan is a horrible game and it’s stupid that it’s his favorite… but you know, in a nice way. (b) He obviously can’t read because I clearly stated I like the crab shuffle and not actual baseball… but you know, in a nice way. And (c) I take a mild, but not eager, interest in his line of work. A+ online dating response. And you have to trust me, I’m an online dating expert. I mean, I have a blog for God’s sake.

But remember… I don’t give out my phone number. To anyone. I don’t even think my own mother knows my phone number. And if I text this guy, he’ll have my phone number. Now I’m not Jewish, but I know that’s not Kosher.

But Mike knows I’m cool. He digs me. So in my awesome, cool girl way, I just casually say “That’s sweet, but I really don’t give out my number to someone I don’t really know yet. Nothing personal. Just a safety thing. You can never be too careful! Hope you understand.”

Does Mike understand?

No.

And I never heard from him again.

The moral of the story: the time I spent trying to correspond with Mike could have better been spent honing my awesome spy skills for when the Bourne casting directors come a-knocking.